


A Passion-Play

by LilyGilt (Yirry)



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop
Genre: Anal Sex, Captivity, Large Cock, M/M, Rough Sex, Sexual Torture, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 20:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19410913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yirry/pseuds/LilyGilt
Summary: To buy time, the Sadist plays obscene games as Jaenelle makes ready to unleash the witch storm. But Hekatah is suspicious... and so Daemon and Lucivar are forced to play out one part of the game much farther than they had anticipated.





	A Passion-Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



_"It's your turn, Prick."_

_Because he was looking for it, because he knew_ what _to look for, Lucivar saw the sick desperation in Daemon's eyes..._

"Wait," Hekatah said.

Daemon's eyes went blank, then he turned to her with a predatory grace. "It's not a sight for Ladies. I've been wanting to enjoy my _brother_ for quite some time."

There was a chilling, possessive, vicious lash to his voice. The message was clear: anyone who interfered would suffer nearly as much as Lucivar was going to.

"I know, dear," Hekatah purred. "But I'm not that kind of Lady. I just want to watch. I want to see all the Sadist's skills. After all," she smiled, "it's not as if he's going to be fit for you to do it twice."

There was a long, long, moment, and then Daemon smiled back. Lucivar couldn't see the smile - it was turned away from him - but he could feel it in the way Daemon's shoulders relaxed, and the predatory aura _shifted_. Mother Night, he could imagine that smile.

Then Daemon turned it on him.

"Indeed, if it can only be done once," Daemon purred, golden eyes locked on him, words meant for Hekatah, "it should be done right."

At least he hoped the words were only for Hekatah. He understood what game Daemon was playing. Although he _thought_ Daemon didn't want to hurt him, he knew Daemon would do anything he thought necessary to convince Hekatah he was devoid of anything but calculation and cruelty.

And that included pain and humiliation in all their forms.

This part of their little play-acting had just become a lot more personal.

Lucivar fought. No one would have expected anything else. He relished every blow he landed on Daemon as payment for the pageant Daemon had enacted in front of him, burning his wife and son alive and using Craft to prolong their agony. It hadn't been real. But the pain he'd felt, seeing it, had been devastatingly real, and Daemon had _used_ that pain.

Too, the messy, inconclusive fighting might just strain Hekatah's patience, diminishing her eagerness for the spectacle ahead.

But mainly, he wanted to hurt Daemon.

Ebon-gray against Black was doomed to fail; he'd already drained his Jewels in a desperate attempt to save Marian and Daemonar's shadows, and his Jewels' reserves had not recovered. But he drew it out for a while.

For a while, too, Daemon fought, dodging and deflecting with a slashing grin. Finally, he stopped, his eyes wide, his breaths coming in pants, his smile eager as though he had engaged in the fight only to stoke his own arousal. The Black shield around him, power extending off it far into the ground and air, put paid to Lucivar's further resistance.

"I've always wanted to break you," Daemon breathed, eyes glazed. "How good of you to save that privilege for me."

Daemon snapped his fingers, and Lucivar's clothes were gone. True, they had been scraps, but... And he knew this was a ploy, knew that Daemon's lust had precisely one object, but he still wanted to cover himself against Daemon's searing gaze. 

Sleepy-eyed, Daemon closed the distance.

He put his hands on Lucivar's chest, and Lucivar felt heat sink in. He circled Lucivar, careful of his wings. Everywhere he touched, there was that warmth, and there was the Sadist: Lucivar would have rather bitten off Daemon's hands than feel his caresses, but the warmth persuaded. It felt damnably good.

He came around to Lucivar's back, and placed his hands on Lucivar's back, and Lucivar felt the warmth - and then he felt the Black shield extend out around Daemon's hands, felt the power lash out with it, felt Daemon grip his wing joints as if he had the strength to tear them off. 

He went down swearing.

Daemon had locked some kind of Black shield around his wings; he could no more move them than if they had been tree branches. The strain didn't hurt now, but oh, it would. Meanwhile. Daemon's hands moved down his back, to his arse.

Lucivar gave voice to another bout of swearing.

Even Hekatah looked briefly impressed.

"Lucivar..." Daemon's voice was a caress. "No one else could take my cock the way you can."

He was tired, and he was pissed, and he'd never been good at play-acting. The words he spat out weren't much more than a crude version of the truth. "What cock? Everyone knows you only get it up for Jaenelle."

"That's right," Daemon purred. "And so I have an... alternative."

He stripped slowly out of his trousers, in deliberate gestures that would have been ridiculous in any other situation. Lucivar looked. Daemon's cock - large though it was - dangled against limp balls. The rumors bore out.

But Daemon was still smiling. He held his hands over his crotch. A shape began to take form. As an illusion, it was poor - half-translucent, melting at the edges - but Lucivar knew what it meant. Daemon was a master of phantom caresses. This was merely a visual aid.

The illusory cock jutted up to Daemon's chest, massive and proud. Lucivar swallowed. At its base, it was broader than his fist.

Daemon moved behind him. Lucivar could no longer see, but he could feel. He could feel the head of the massive cock press into his rectum...

... and then slip in, only the tip, a thin, short probe compared to the illusion's vast bulk.

He understood. The sensation was there only as a cue, so he knew to act out the agony.

He did his best.

Hekatah sounded disappointed.

"Daemon. I can't see."

He growled at her, a sound that would have put Kaelas to shame. "I can't _hear_ " he snarled. "I can't hear Lucivar's screams over your _whining_."

She ignored the threat in his voice. She sounded excited. "I can't see his stomach bulge with you. I can't see him writhe around you. _Please_." That last came out in a little girl's voice.

Without warning, Lucivar was flipped, although the restraints around his wings cushioned the shock on them. Then - 

\- _Mother Night_.

Daemon was fucking him with a phantom cock every inch as big as the one he'd conjured for Hekatah. It wasn't a trick any more.

He was an Eyrien warrior, trained to take pain. He still screamed. Pain squeezed itself out of his eyeballs. If it had been real, that cock would have surged halfway up through his body, burying itself in his lungs. He wasn't entirely sure it wasn't real.

And meanwhile Daemon played with Lucivar's own cock. His nails had phantom extensions, slipping into his cock and probing it, seeking where it could be filled.

Turning sharp edges to his insides whenever he struggled. _Mother Night. Mother Night._ So this was the Sadist. In around the exquisite pain... it felt... simply exquisite.

"Good, good," Hekatah breathed, her eyes ravenous. The psychic scent of her arousal fouled the space even more than Lucivar's pain.

Daemon looked up at her slowly, as though he'd forgotten she was there.

He let out a predatory snarl that should have sent her running.

When it didn't, he seemed to forget her again. He curled his hand - his all-too-skilful hand - around Lucivar's cock.

To Lucivar's relief, the grip was loose, even though the grip looked painfully tight. He bucked into Daemon's hands, and it wasn't hard to play along when Daemon sent an illusory spurt of come in Hekatah's direction.

"Ahhhh," she breathed. 

Daemon forced a fingertip into Lucivar's apparently-spurting hole, then held it out for Hekatah to taste.

"And now," he said, eyes half-lidded, tone deceptively pleasant, "I'd like privacy with my brother."

No one protested as Daemon dragged him off to the closest shack, presumably for indefinite further rounds.

No one, that is, except Lucivar, who spat on Daemon the moment they were alone.

Daemon shrugged it off. He was moving as if he had Saetan's aches. "None of this will mean anything when it's done, Prick. You know that."

"Are you sure of that?" Lucivar hissed.

Daemon met his gaze.

"None of this will mean anything if _she_ is well."

"And if she forgives you."

The eyes fell half-closed, and Lucivar felt a mean triumph, and also, a despair. If Daemon believed Jaenelle would forgive him for this, then he believed she authorised it. Authorised even Lucivar's sexual torment before witnesses.

But if Jaenelle had given the Sadist free reign, she had done so for a purpose.

Silently, despairingly, Lucivar bowed his head to his Queen.

If her plan succeeded, it all would be worth it.

If. _If..._


End file.
